


...qui gemit in exsilio

by bereft_of_frogs



Category: Daredevil (TV), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Avocados at Law, Catholicism, Christmas, Friendship, Gen, It's a Wonderful Life, Suicidal Thoughts, Supernatural Elements, Visions, alternative universe
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-24
Updated: 2019-12-24
Packaged: 2021-02-26 03:20:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,289
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21926599
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bereft_of_frogs/pseuds/bereft_of_frogs
Summary: It's Christmas and Matt Murdock is alone.[He spends a lonely Christmas Eve thinking about how his friends are better off without him. Until someone - or something- shows him the ripple effect the loss of one life can have.][It's a Wonderful Lifeinspired.]
Relationships: Matt Murdock & Franklin "Foggy" Nelson
Comments: 10
Kudos: 45





	...qui gemit in exsilio

**Author's Note:**

> additional warnings: some canon-typical violence, reference to murder

He stands on the edge of a roof, taking in the sounds and feel of the city. He’s been on this ledge many times before, absorbing what the city has to give him, but tonight Matt doesn’t plan on doing anything about the sounds he hears. The city is cooperating - it is mostly quiet, the cold and snow driving even criminals inside. There’s a stillness he’s not used to. A loneliness.

It is Christmas Eve and Matt Murdock is entirely alone.

The truth is, he doesn’t have to be. Before this wandering detour to the rooftop, he had been on his way to midnight mass, soon to be surrounded by families celebrating Christmas Eve together. The regulars would offer him a warm hug and a cup of hot cider. Father Lantom would invite him into the sacristy for a drink before he went home. But none of it was quite the same as Christmases past.

He could make the call. He could call Foggy, beg him to put aside his anger for just one night, so they could ignore their current strife and pretend it was another normal Christmas. They’d go get a drink at Josie’s before going home and watching worn down DVDs of old Christmas movies - Foggy providing somewhat less than coherent audio description, making Matt laugh until his sides ached. They’d fall asleep together on the couch and wake in the morning to drink heavily spiked eggnog and exchange purposely terrible gifts.

For a moment, Matt allows himself to want it so badly it hurts. He grits his teeth and taps his cane against the edge of the stone. No. He won’t call Foggy.

This loneliness was of his own making, born of his own mistakes, his own drifting into danger. With what he has chosen to do with his nights, he has put everyone he loves in danger. He doesn’t deserve to go running to them just because he felt a little cold on a dark night. Foggy doesn’t deserve his lies, the darkness belying all their happy memories. Karen doesn’t deserve more pain than she’s already suffered. Claire doesn’t deserve him taking advantage of her kindness and skills.

What if he had never brought this darkness into their lives? What if he had never been alive? How much suffering would he have spared his loved ones if he had never existed, or if he had done what Stick had wanted him to years ago? Cut everyone off, live alone, with no connections. Perhaps it would have been better.

The feeling washes over him in a flash, gone as quickly as it came. A wave of self-loathing, so strong he can feel it in every bone, every nerve, every skin cell. He hates himself so much that for a moment it makes him sway in place, sucking in cold air and feeling the depths of his loneliness so hard he could scream-

In the next moment, he finds himself sitting on a hard but familiar pew. Matt lets the air out of his lungs slowly. His heart rate ratchets up but he forces himself to keep calm, take stock of his surroundings.

The church is quiet, empty. The same wind that had been whipping at his coat outside makes the rafters creak and moan. There’s a slight haze of incense in the air, the sweet smell wrapping around him.

“Okay,” He says to himself. “How did I get here? Come on, just think.”

There is nothing, no memory of the interim between standing on the roof and sitting in the church. It is more than being on autopilot, more that just losing the memory of a habitual activity. _He doesn’t remember how he got here_. He focus on his body and other than the dull aches of healing injuries, he doesn’t detect any new injuries. He doesn’t feel dizzy or nauseous, his senses don’t seem to have been affected, no signs that he’s been drugged.

Just when Matt really starts to work up to a quiet panic, the door opens and a man enters, fabric swishing. Father Lantom, in full vestments ahead of the evening mass. Without hesitation, he walks down the aisle to where Matt sits and takes a seat next to him. For a minute or so, he says nothing. They merely sit together in the quiet of the church, until Father Lantom finally breaks the silence.

“What are you doing here, Matthew? It’s late.”

Matt has to laugh. “I admit, I don’t actually know. And I’m not sure what time it is, I seem to have…to have lost a few hours.”

“It’s late,” He says again. “It’s cold outside.”

Matt tightens his grip on his cane, running his thumb of his other hand over the smooth wood of the pew. “Yeah. Snowing, actually. And that wind…”

“Came to seek shelter?”

“I don’t really know. What I do know…” He takes a deep breath, well aware that what he’s about to say is going to sound completely nuts. “Is that you’re not Father Lantom.”

It was a thousand little things. Something was just _off_ about the man beside him. He held the shape of Father Lantom, he had his voice and his mannerism, even his gait - but his carriage was wrong, something small about the way he chose his words, the pauses he put between them. How still he was, sitting on the pew.

“Good catch,” The creature besides him says. “I’m not quite the Father Lantom you know. This isn’t quite the world you know.” Matt says nothing. His heart beats very fast. “You were wondering, what it would be like if you’d never existed. What Hell’s Kitchen would be like, what your friends’ lives would be like. Operating under the assumption that their lives might be better without you in it?”

“They would be,” Matt says, against his better judgment. The words just tumble from his lips. “They would be better off. They’d be safer.”

“Hm,” The thing hums, sounding almost amused. With that tone, he almost sounds like the real Father Lantom. “Would they?”

Matt stands, casting aside his cane and taking two steps back. He thrusts an accusing finger towards the imposter. “I don’t know who or what you are, but this is bullshit-”

“Is it? After everything you’ve seen? Everything you’ve done? Aliens have come from a hole in the sky. I can show you a new version of reality. After all that, the Incident, everything else that’s happened to you, is this _that_ strange, Matthew?”

“Stop saying my name, stop speaking to me like you know me.”

“You wanted to know what your friends’ lives would have been like if you’d never been in them. Well, I’ve shown you.”

Matt is shaking, every muscle in his body ready to beat this _thing_ into the ground. But he’s suddenly having a hard time getting a precise read on it’s location. It seems to blur on the pew, Matt’s senses processing conflicting information. “If you’ve hurt them-”

“I’ve done nothing to them. You still don’t get it. I’m showing you what happens if you’re not here. Anything that’s happened to your friends…now whose fault would that be?”

“You-”

“It’s late. You should go find your friends.” The creature wearing Father Lantom’s shape stands and even though Matt’s primed for a fight, he can’t move as it swishes past him, opens a door next to the altar and disappears. He can’t move until the door clicks shut and he is alone in the church.

Then he runs.

He goes home first, the path between the church and his apartment familiar and well-worn in. He tries to find his phone but it’s gone. It’s not in his coat pockets and he doesn’t have time to try and retrace his steps. He doesn’t even know what steps he took, to get from the rooftop to the church. (He stubbornly ignores the voice in his head that unhelpfully supplies ‘teleportation’ as a potential path.)

When he arrives, his apartment is empty. Not just devoid of life, but devoid of furniture, of all his things. It echoes, feeling cavernous. The neon billboard hums.

As he stands bewildered in the empty apartment, Matt begins to accept the possibility that something very strange is going on.

Footsteps, with a slight limp, come up behind him. The landlord, huffing, plainly annoyed at being disturbed.

“Hey, what are you doing in there?”

“I…ah, I used to live here.”

The landlord grunts. “Makes sense. I bet you were the last. I can’t rent this place to anyone ‘cuz of that damned billboard. Fucking city, I went to six different council meetings, no one ever listened to me. Costing me income. Why’d you move? In with a lady? What, she turn you out? Thinking of moving back?” He sounds eager. “I’ll give you a good deal.”

“I…no, I…maybe. Sorry. I have to go.” Matt pushes past him, back into the hall.

“Call me if you’re thinking of coming back!” He calls down the hall, but Matt is already gone, forgoing waiting for the elevator to take the stairs.

He takes off at nearly a run, barely paying attention to where he was going in his desperation to find his friends. So desperate he nearly collides with several people who awkwardly sidestep out of his way, and halfway to the office, he nearly twists his ankle in a deep pothole on a torn up section of sidewalk.

“Whoa, careful there,” An older woman calls as he just barely manages to avoid the hole. “All this fucking construction, I told them that someone was going to eat it when they tore down the old Rosen building.”

“They say it’s going to be nicer, but these developers, I’ll believe it when I see it.”

“I know, they all say they’re improving the neighborhood but they’re just lining their pockets while the rest of us get pushed out.”

“Well I’m not moving, I don’t care what anybody says-”

Matt ignores them, rushing past the torn up block, past the old women. The layout of the city is off. There are buildings missing from where they would be standing, a parking structure where there was a park only hours before, half finished resurfacing projects. He’s actually starting to believe what that creature said, that he’s done _something_ to this city, or perhaps reality itself. Matt’s heart beats fast in his chest and he prays that their office building is still standing.

It starts to snow again. The snow dampens the sound of the city and falls wetly onto his hair and coat, makes the sidewalk slick. He doesn’t care.

The building is still there, sounds nearly empty at this hour. Matt traces his hand over the outside of the building, seeking desperately. He doesn’t taste metal in the air, but maybe it’s just the snow dampening it. His fingers find nothing, no brass sign, only rough bricks scrapping at his fingertips.

Someone exits the building, the door scraping and clicking shut as it always had.

“Excuse me,” Matt calls and feels the man stop.

“Uh, can I help you, buddy?” He says in a way that sounds like he’s also saying, _oh God please say no_. He doesn’t sound like he wants to help anybody, just wants to go home and lock his door but you can’t say no to a blind guy standing outside your office building in a snowstorm.

“I’m looking…I’m looking for a lawyer.”

“Try the yellow pages.”

“No, I-“ Matt takes a deep breath. “A specific lawyer. His office…he’s supposed to be here. Foggy Nelson.”

“Never heard of him.”

“He was supposed to be working here. Nelson and Murdock, come on, you haven’t-”

“Sorry, man. Never heard of ‘em.”

“Okay…Karen Page. Do you know Karen Page? She works…worked here too.”

“Nope, sorry, buddy, I really can’t-” The man has turned to walk away but then he stops. Turns back with a hesitation in his step. “Wait. Karen Page? That Union Allied chick?”

Matt’s heart drops into his stomach. “Yes. I believe she worked there. Can you tell me where to find her?”

“What, you don’t read the news? Or…oh, I guess listen to the radio or something. She’s six feet under.”

“Six…six feet…” He swallows. “What happened?”

“Jesus, it was all over the news. Fucking disgusting, what it is. A pretty young girl from Vermont, just moved to the city to make a career for herself. Some say she got messed up in some shady dealings, but no one’s ever been able to prove anything. Found her strung up on a bit of fencing down by the port. It was a messy scene. Someone was trying to send a message. But what do I know? Maybe it was just some sicko.”

“Jesus,” Matt breathes. “Jesus, that’s…”

“You knew her?”

“Uh…yeah…yeah I knew her. Thanks…thanks for your help.”

“Sure. Hope you find that other guy you’re looking for…”

“Yeah. Thanks.”

“Merry Christmas.”

“Merry Christmas.” The man walks away, a bit of hesitation in his gate now, like he feels bad leaving Matt after dropping the bomb of Karen’s death on him. He shouldn’t - there was no way he could know Matt’s relationship with her. As far as he was concerned, he was just a lost stranger standing in the snow, looking for a lawyer.

It takes him a little while to find Foggy’s apartment. With the changing layout of the city, he gets lost several times. He finally manages to remember which block and find his way to the right building. He sneaks past the front door. Second floor, third door on the right. It feels right, familiar enough to know that Foggy actually does live here. He pounds on the door for a minute, two, calling out his name. When there is no response, he stops, takes a deep breath and listens for a moment.

“Dammit.” No one is inside. The apartment is empty and he has wasted valuable time.

His next stop is the hospital.

Matt has a brief thought about the amount of times this scenario has been reversed - Foggy turning to the city’s ERs and morgues to find him. Scared and alone, desperately searching with hope but fearing the worst.

He tries to put it from his mind as he weaves through the crowded halls. Most people ignore him, but one nurse stops and puts her hands on her hips with a huff. “You can’t just wander around the halls. Can I help you?” She spits.

“Yes, I’m looking for Claire…Claire Temple. She’s a nurse here?”

“Claire Temple? Oh honey, she’s gone.”

Matt’s heart sinks. “She’s dead?” He chokes out around the lump in his throat. “Dead?”

“What? No, Jesus, why’d you go there right away? Jesus Christ, no, she quit. Left town.”

“Quit? But she was so good at this job, she loved-”

“Mmhm, past tense. This is a hard job, honey, most people don’t last even as long as she did. It wears down the soul. Claire just cared so much. Caring is like a catalyst it makes things burn so much faster. Most people just turn sour, bitter, mean. Good people like Claire just can’t cut it anymore. Last I heard she was headed to California. Her cousin owns a business out there, can’t remember what he did…”

“So you have no way of reaching her?”

“Nope. She cut all ties. Deleted her Facebook, changed her number. She had a man uptown, but I never met him. Don’t know if he left with her, or stuck around. I was pissed at first, but I think understand now. She just had to get out. Save herself. Can’t blame her.”

“Cutting off all ties is pretty drastic. Did something happen?”

The nurse shrugs, air currents and fabric shifting, and then awkwardly scrambles to say, “I don’t know. Sorry I couldn’t help you.” Before she turns away, she pauses. “I think she just…didn’t have anything to hope for anymore. Didn’t see signs of anything changing, of anything being successful against all the bullshit out there. Couldn’t take it anymore. When people run out of hope…” She sighs. “I’m just glad she got out alive.”

Matt returns to the waiting room and sinks into a chair, feeling exhausted and defeated. He wants to go home and curl up in bed and hope that all of this has just been some sort of hallucination brought upon by sleep deprivation - but he remembers the empty apartment and the fact that he doesn’t have a bed to go back to.

In the exhaustion, his control over the sensory input slips and the sounds of the crowded emergency room start to overwhelm him.

“…and I’m going to need a new bag of saline in hallway bed 4…”

“We’ve got another GSW coming in by EMS, 4 minutes out, trauma team is prepping in trauma 1.”

“I swear, I didn’t _want_ to stab that chick, I just…some dude in a suit told me to and I couldn’t help it, I just did. Oh God, what the fuck is wrong with me-”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah, keep selling that insanity defense, I’m sure the judge will totally buy it.”

There is the sound of vomiting. “Oh my God, your mom is totally going to kill me, I told you not to take those shots, Amanda.”

“Shit man, I told you I was fine, how the fuck am I supposed to pay for all of this?”

“You hit your head pretty fuckin’ hard, you were pretty out of it, they said there might be bleeding in your brain-”

“Yeah and that CT scan’s going to cost me two grand!”

The tinny, distorted voice coming from the waiting room TV. “ _And councilwoman Mariah Dillard was speaking again today outside of the new venture-_ ”

The beeping of a thousand machines. Crying and hearts beating out of time

Matt puts his head in his hands and tries to block it all out. He breathes slowly and the sounds fade into the background. He can’t get the smell of blood and antiseptic out of his nose though.

He has to find Foggy. Maybe that will…solve something. He doesn’t know. This is all just fucking insane. Karen _dead_ , Claire gone. Some odd creature in Father Lantom’s place. Matt has no one left. But if he can find Foggy, things will be better, he’s sure.

“Okay, okay, fine,” He says quietly to himself. “So let’s pretend that thing was telling the truth. That this is…this is the world if you weren’t around. If you didn’t exist, where would Foggy be right now?”

And he has his answer.

The Landman and Zack offices aren’t quite empty, even though it is the middle of the night. They must be running the associates into the ground, as usual, to protect some corrupt asshole from the consequences of his actions. He knows security at the firm’s pretty tight and he’s not getting in at this hour, so Matt doesn’t even try the front lobby. Instead he breaks in the back and starts searching.

There - Matt would know that combination of breath and heartbeat and demeanor and gait anywhere. Even in this altered world, he still has a read on his best friend.

Foggy’s on the move, leaving a small office and heading towards the stairwell. He seems more weighed down than usual, and not just from the heavy bag slung over his shoulder. He moves stiffly and without vigor. Matt frowns.

He follows Foggy down the stairs, as quietly as he can. Foggy doesn’t notice a thing. It’s only when they are alone, in the alley behind the office building, that Matt allows his footstep to make a sound. He steps from the shadows and calls out, “Foggy.”

Foggy stops. Turns. Matt feels a swell of relief, an odd sense that he’s found home after all, even with his apartment empty and cavernous, even with everyone else in his life gone. Then it comes crashing down when Foggy chuckles and says, “Oh man, no one calls me Foggy these days. Except Marci, but that’s only when she really wants to torment me. Are you a friend of hers?”

“No, I’m…don’t you remember?”

“Uh, sorry, I don’t think I remember you. Columbia?”

Matt’s mouth is very dry. “Yes. Yes, I went to Columbia.”

“Sorry, I think I permanently broke some of my memories of law school. Somewhere between the alcohol and the all nighters cramming torts into my brain I lost the ability to remember half our class. Are you working for L and Z now?”

“No…come on, Foggy, you really don’t remember me?”

“Maybe you’ve got me confused with someone else. Sorry, I’ve got to go, I’ve got a meeting-”

“No, wait, please. You _know_ me.” Matt’s voice is raw. There’s a screaming in his head. “You _have_ to know me.”

The desperation in his voice stops Foggy. He turns back, sounding worried man. “I really don’t. Hey, are you okay? Do you need help? Do you need me to call someone?”

Matt grabs Foggy’s arm, fingers digging in desperately. “ _Please_ , please tell me you remember me.”

“Look, let me call someone for you, I can get you to a hospital maybe?” Foggy’s voice is patient, kind. “I’m really sorry, but I don’t know you. We’ve never met.”

And that’s the worst of it. The worst thing Matt’s ever heard. Because underneath the words, there’s Foggy’s heartbeat, a little elevated from being confronted like this, but otherwise steady.

He is telling the truth.

Matt drops his arm.

“Let me call someone for you. A taxi, I think I’ve got a twenty, that should get you-”

“No, no…I’m sorry. I’m sorry for bothering you.” Matt turns and flees. Not far, just far enough that Foggy doesn’t see or hear as he starts to cry.

Foggy stands, plainly stunned, for a few minutes as Matt presses his back against the stone wall and tries to banish the angry, upset sobs that build in his chest. His cruel brain keeps replaying his memory the climax of their argument after Foggy learned of his nighttime activities. When emotions and hurt had spilled over, betrayal and fear tearing them apart. He would prefer that. He would prefer to drag Foggy back so they could fight, instead of this polite conversation between complete strangers.

In the alley, Foggy recovers himself and sets off into the dark. Matt manages to stem the flow of tears, wiping them away on his sleeve. He doesn’t know where else to go, what else to do, so he follows. He slips into the shadows again, keeping his attention on the steady beating of Foggy’s heart and his footsteps on the concrete. Even though Foggy doesn’t know him, even though finding him has only caused more problems than it has solved, now that Matt has him he’s not going to let him go.

Foggy said he had a meeting. At this time of night? Who could he possibly be meeting in the middle of the night, when most people would be wisely in bed? Deep down, Matt knows the answer. He doesn’t quite let himself admit it yet, but he knows who Foggy’s going to meet. Foggy’s heartbeat quickens as they walk. He starts to sweat as he turns down another small street, one that opens out to a parking lot where an SUV is idling. If someone where to illustrate a dictionary definition of the word ‘shady,’ the first image would be of a large oak tree. The second image would be this scene.

“Shit,” Matt breaths, settling himself on a fire escape to carefully listen. “Come on, Foggy, what have you done? Please don’t let it be-”

The door opens. James Wesley steps out. “Mr. Nelson, welcome.” He crosses around to the other side of the car and opens the door.

Wilson Fisk gets out of the car. “You’re late.”

“Sorry, I got distracted by…something. Doesn’t matter.”

“I don’t like being kept waiting.”

After everything that’s happened tonight, Matt thinks this might be the breaking point. Where his mind finally shatters. He could vomit. He could scream. But actually, he can’t do either of those things because he can’t move. He is frozen, that deep voice cutting through to his core. Grabbing hold of his heart and squeezing until he feels like he could explode. His fists tighten on the iron rung of the fire escape, so hard it hurts and he can smell the coppery tang of blood in the air.

“Couldn’t help it. Sorry. Got here as soon as I could.” Foggy’s voice is horribly flat, devoid of feeling. He sounds tired.

“You brought the files.”

“Yes. The official ones will be available tomorrow at the firm.”

“Good.”

“That’s very good,” Wesley says. “The narrative we want to tell - we need to tell - will be going out to the presses in the morning. This nasty business, with the tenant’s association, no one wanted to hear about that. And thanks to you, they won’t have to.”

“Yup, the big bad,” Foggy sighs. “Tenant’s association. Four senior citizens.” He scuffs his shoe against the ground. “Look. I can’t help you any more. If I get caught-”

“Then you must not be caught,” Fisk says, slow and dangerous.

“I could be disbarred. I worked my ass off to get here, I can’t just throw it away.”

_Good_ , Matt thinks, from where he is frozen on the fire escape. _Good, Foggy, now get out. Get out!_

“I’m sorry. I just can’t keep helping you.” Foggy’s voice shakes. “But I am happy to continue representing you as part of your legal team at-” There is the sound of a body being pushed into the metal and glass of the car, Foggy’s surprised cry.

“That is very disappointing, Mr. Nelson,” Fisk growls.

“Wait wait wait wait wait,” Foggy says in a single, rapid stream. His voice is pitched high, like it always gets when he’s scared. Matt begs his body to move, but he still can’t. There are phantom pains of slashing knives, the cruel, rough voice of Fisk as he rained violence down that night that Foggy found him. “Come on, we can work something out, I swear I won’t tell.”

“I’m terribly sorry, Mr. Nelson,” Wesley says calmly. “We can’t let you grow a conscience. What would happen to dear Ms. Marci Stahl? Sergeant Mahoney? There’s just so much violence in this city, especially for a pretty young woman like her and an overzealous, promising police officer?”

“Oh, like you’re really making things better,” Foggy returns. “You’re making it _worse_ , you’re tearing this city apart.”

“I am improving this city!” Fisk roars. “I am mending it, I am turning it from the darkness into the light. This city and all its inhabitants are a parasite. I am the only one who dares stand and hope for something better. Violence is the only thing this place understands. That is my gift To New York .”

“This city doesn’t deserve your shit.”

Matt makes himself move. His need to protect Foggy from what’s coming finally overrides the terror that had rooted him to the spot and he launches himself over the rail, just as the first dull sound of a blow reaches him, a fist connecting to flesh. Everything slows down, seemingly to a crawl. Foggy cries out in pain, dropping to the floor. Fisk is shouting, raging.

“Foggy!”

_Foggy - Foggy - Foggy-_

Matt jolts awake in bed, gasping for air. He is braced for an impact, to land and launch himself into a fight - but there is no fight. Only his bedroom and his phone insistently buzzing, calling out Foggy’s name over and over in that robotic voice. Matt scrambles to answer it.

“Foggy? What is it? Are you all right?”

“Am _I_ all right? What about you, Matt? Where the hell are you?”

“What do you mean? Did we have a meeting, what time is it-” Matt props the phone between his ear and shoulder and reaches for the clock. It cheerfully announces the time. “It’s the middle of the night.”

“Exactly. Christmas Eve? Midnight mass? I thought you never missed it.”

“I guess I…” Matt processes that he’s fully dressed, complete with his wool coat, lying on top of the sheets. Memories start to slowly come back, though he’s still disoriented. They blend together, reality and the dream. He had been going to midnight mass and he had been…sidetracked. “I guess I fell asleep. I had…such a strange dream.”

“Oh,” Foggy says, and sounds coolly distant again, like he has for weeks. “Oh, yeah. Of course. You’re probably tired, sorry, I just-”

“No, wait! Wait, Foggy, I can be there…ten minutes. Just wait ten minutes.”

“I don’t know, Matt…”

“ _Please_.”

Something in his voice must convince Foggy. “Fine, ten minutes. But if you’re not here in ten minutes, I’m going home before I start losing fingers and toes.”

Matt is out of bed in a moment, rushing across his apartment. He doesn’t need to put on his coat or shoes because he’s already dressed. His mind reels, trying to connect his memories of being on the roof to how he awoke in bed - the interim is a blur but he thinks he was in the church and he recalls being afraid. Afraid for his friends’ lives. He cannot say precisely why, but he knows now that he needs to talk to Foggy.

In his distraction, Matt barely remembers to grab a cane before rushing out the door. He honestly barely remembers to use the door, the adrenaline so high in his blood that he nearly launches himself out the window like he’s dressed in the suit instead of a wool coat. He moves quickly through the quiet near-empty streets, until he arrives at the courtyard where midnight mass is letting out onto the snowy streets.

The people around him radiate a tired calm. There are families and couples and couples. A father carries his daughter to the car. “Merry Christmas, Matthew,” An older woman Matt had seen a few times at the usual Sunday service. He murmurs the greeting back to her and keeps pushing through. He finds Foggy and stops.

It all comes flooding back to him. The details of the dream. All of it.

But Foggy is safe and whole standing before him.

“Foggy?” He calls. For a second he thinks Foggy’s going to say he doesn’t know him again and that will shatter him beyond repair, but instead Foggy turns and relaxes.

“Matt, hey. Fuck, it’s cold.”

“Sorry, sorry, I got here as soon as I could.” Matt hugs him, revels for a second in the solid, safe presence of his friend.

“Yeah, no worries.” But Foggy shivers a bit as they break apart. “I just thought…” He trails off, clears his throat. “It’s a pretty church. They decorated it with all these branches and with the snow…I see why you like it.”

Matt is still breathless, desperately relieved that Foggy recognizes him. Foggy knows him. Knows where he should have been on Christmas Eve. “I’m glad you called.”

“Yeah, I’m glad to see you. In one piece. You know I worry. Jesus, I sound like a grandmother.”

“Why did you come tonight?” Matt asks. “Why did you come? You’ve never come to mass, not once.”

“Come on…”

“ _Why?_ ”

“I don’t know.” Foggy scuffs his boot on the icy cobblestone. “Because I missed you. Because I was worried. I know we talk at work but…you’ve been distant.”

“That’s not necessarily my fault.” The wind picks up, sharp and biting.

Foggy sighs. “No, you’re right. It’s been weird, I’m still not…down with your nighttime activities.”

That pulls half a smile out of Matt, little more than a twitch. “‘Down with my nighttime activities’?”

“You know what I mean. I mean…I don’t like it. I don’t like that you lied to me, I don’t like having to be worried that you’re going to get caught, or injured…or worse, get yourself killed.” His voice is thick with emotion. “I worry about you, and I miss you, and…I know you were alone tonight and I know I should have called sooner.”

“You didn’t have to, you’re not…”

“Not what, Matt?”

“You’re not…you’re not responsible for me, it’s not your problem.”

“It’s not? Come on, Matt. Of _course_ I am.”

“You don’t-”

“We’re family. And I left you alone on Christmas, I’m such an ass.”

“I don’t want you to feel…beholden. I don’t want you to be…dragged down with me-”

“Matt, shut up.” Matt winces. “Just stop. Don’t pretend like…you’re some asshole ruining my life. You’re my best friend. I’m not happy with some of your decisions and it’s my prerogative to worry about you. I care about you, Matt.”

“Oh, Foggy.”

“It’s fine, it’s-”

Foggy doesn’t get the words out, not before Matt can’t help himself anymore and throws his arms around Foggy’s neck. This isn’t the quick, relieved hug that he’d given him when he first arrived in the small park outside the church. This is the crushing, desperate embrace of someone who has very little he truly cares about, and can not imagine losing what he has.

“I missed you so much, Foggy. I’m sorry, I’m so sorry.”

Foggy nearly wheezes, lungs crushed by the force of Matt’s emotion. “I’ve missed you too.”

“I thought…I thought you’d be better off without me. I thought…I thought everyone would be. I thought…I could make things easier for you if I didn’t…”

Foggy squeezes tighter, holding on to Matt with almost as much desperation. “You know that’s not true, right? I mean, I’d have never passed half my classes without your help.” His voice is thick with tears. “You know that’s not true, right?”

“I don’t know,” Matt answers honestly. There’s still that constant current of guilt and uncertainty running through him. Still something in his mind, that despite everything he had seen in his odd dream, that whispers _but still, they don’t really need you, they’d find their way out of danger without you, wouldn’t be put in as much of it, wouldn’t be in as much pain-_ “I don’t know. But…I think I might be able to understand. One day.”

“I’ll just have to keep trying to convince you, I guess.”

“I really don’t deserve you, Fog.”

“I don’t think this is a ‘deserve’ kind of thing. A computer our freshman year put us together and boom, there it is. Clearly it was just fate. Nothing about _deserving_. You don’t have to do anything to 'deserve' me.”

Tears prickle at the corners of his eyes. “Yeah. Maybe you’re right.”

They embrace for a long time, until the snow is really starting to come down and the cold is settling into their bones. Foggy pulls back first, but doesn’t move to push Matt away. “Well. If you really want to do something to deserve how wonderful I am, you could buy me a drink. Josie’s will still be open, that old bat doesn’t have it in her to close for Christmas. Capitulating to festivities would surely make her burst into flame. I mean, unless you just want to go home, that’s fine too, it is the middle of the night-”

“No, a drink…that sounds great.” The lingering uncertainties brought on by the dream have bled back in. He can still hear the echo of Foggy’s cry, the sick sound of Fisk’s fist striking flesh. He doesn’t particularly want to be alone.

They’re getting a late start of it. But there’s still time to get drunk and laugh together to Foggy’s humorous audio description of classic films and eat takeout on the couch.

There's still time.

It’s not too late.

“In that case, allow me to escort you,” Foggy says with a theatrical voice and a bow. “I bowed. It was dashing.”

Matt laughs and takes his arm. As they pass by the front of the church, Father Lantom calls out to him, “Merry Christmas. We missed you this evening. I’m sure you won’t be absent in the morning? Day of obligation, after all. I’ll see you bright and early for the 9 o’clock service?” He says with just the slightest twinge of amused, teasing judgement in his voice. Foggy snorts.

“Of course, Father, I’ll see you in the morning.”

“Hm. I’m _sure_.” Lantom sounds profoundly like he doubts that. He turns to go back into the church, to finish closing up for the night.

Matt stops short. Behind him, inside the church, he feels something. A being - a body with amorphous boundaries, contradicting information that his senses can barely make heads or tails of. He remembers this _thing_ , the way it had spoken to him in the church, in the dream. His hand tightens on Foggy’s arm.

“Hey - you okay? Matt?”

He has the urge to push Foggy away, shield him from this creature and its malice. He’s sure it’s the same creature as before, bringing with it the horrifying implication of the higher power behind his strange dream. But the being doesn’t seem as angry as it had in the church when he first encountered it. In fact, it seems to have an air of pleased satisfaction about it.

_“Matt?”_

“Yeah, sorry, I’m fine. Fine. Let’s go.” He conjures a smile and relaxes his grip.

It keeps snowing. By morning there’s almost a foot of it on the ground. Matt and Foggy don’t notice. They’re passed out on Foggy’s couch, sound asleep as _Miracle on 34th Street_ plays on.

**Author's Note:**

> 'It's a Wonderful Life' is my dad's favorite Christmas movie. We never really appreciated it growing up, but I think I'm beginning to see the appeal. :-) It makes for decent angst. 
> 
> So this is my first _Daredevil_ fic. I'm still figuring some things out but I hope you all enjoyed! To be honest, I think I flexed the timelines a bit to make it work with the season. I had only just started rewatching the series when I started writing. This is set vaguely after Foggy finds out about the Daredevil thing and is slowly starting to come around, but they're still fighting a lot. And I added some magical elements that might not fit as well in Marvel's Netflix shows as it does in the main MCU and what I usually write. Going with it. Couldn't help myself. I just wanted to write Christmas fic about a certain sad Catholic lawyer.
> 
> I feel like after this Matt spends a solid amount of time arguing with himself over whether this was all a dream or a hallucination brought on by sleep deprivation...or if it actually was a particularly creepy angel fucking with him. 
> 
> Title is from my all-time favorite Christmas song ['Veni Veni Emmanuel'](https://open.spotify.com/track/79UkwNmKHkJ9035zgeoRqb) (also known in translation as ['O Come O Come Emmanuel'](https://open.spotify.com/track/7rFqAuFJcg1t5hpGSTFtqj) I always have like four versions of this on my Christmas playlists.)
> 
> Thank you for reading! I can be found on tumblr [@bereft-of-frogs](https://bereft-of-frogs.tumblr.com/) and very occasionally on twitter [@bereft_of_frogs](https://twitter.com/bereft_of_frogs). Comments/Kudos/Shares/Frogs always appreciated! 
> 
> Merry Christmas!


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